Growing Along

As we slept ... rain

Cleanse the sky; drench the earth

Excited are the plants, and I

Whole Wheat Panzanella Salad – yields 6 servings

3 cups of cubed whole wheat bread

1-cup freshly shelled peas

1 hot house cucumber - 3/4” diced

1 small red onion - sliced thinly

3 celery stalks - 3/4” diced

5 scallions - diced

1-cup sorrel - washed and roughly chopped

3-cups arugula - washed and roughly chopped

2 garlic cloves – crushed to a pasted

1/2-cup champagne vinegar

3/4-cup extra virgin olive oil

Freshly ground pepper and salt to taste

2 tablespoons pine nuts - toasted

Spread the bread cubes on a baking tray and dry out in a 250-degree for 5 to 10 minutes. Do not allow the bread cubes to develop too much color

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Toss all ingredients together.  Let the sale sit for at least a half hour.  If you want you can assemble the components of the salad up to 24 hours. 

Friends vs. Foes

I grew up as far from rural land as one can -- a product of the post WWII subranization of the areas surrounding America’s metropolitan centers. The closest I ever got to farming was praying the apple tree in the yard would bare fruit --in eighteen years it never did.  Or, watching my father, attempt to start a vegetable garden to no avail.  The soil in our yard was not very glorious -- we lived along the Long Island coast in homes built on land-filled marshes.  It seemed the only thing I ever got to taste ripe from the earth were radishes.  Yet, in me yearned a person with the desire to dig, nurture and water.  I fantasized of being a genteel farmer with fields of copious flowers, vegetables and herbs getting groomed for the table.  Alas, this was not to be my fate, and I spent my time looking at nature's product envisioning the trail that brought it to me.

One summer participated in a community garden at the base of the Brooklyn Bridge, and thought this was a prefect situation to satisfy my need to reconnect with my ancestors and till some dirt.   There on the eastern edge of New York's iconic expanse dark, moist, worm laden earth was shipped in and then prepared by a small army of urban farmers.  Apparently, I was not the only one who carved that loamy connection. 

Within a month, this spot that previously supported weeds, trash and your average urban blight glowed with  young sunflowers reaching toward their name sake; a plethora of  tender, aromatic herbs promising a wonderful note to future dishes; tomatoes putting out small yellowish flowers a harbinger of a later joy, and squash blossoms buzzing with bees helping to ensure a bountiful harvest.

 The garden was inhibited with not only all these young, epicurean plants, but also insects -- and I do not mean the variety us city dwellers dread to see.  There were ladybugs, grasshoppers (not so welcomed, but tolerated nevertheless), praying mantis and butterflies -- I marveled at their presence for they were nowhere to be seen while we prepared the garden.  I mused that there must be some insect emailing list that alerts these garden friends and pests of a new plot, and its potential feast, or perhaps there was a twitter hash-tag I did not know of.  How, here in Brooklyn, with the dramatic Wall Street skyline as a backdrop, did these hopping, gliding, buzzing critters get here? I really saw a butterfly or grasshopper in Central Park, and spotting a ladybug seems virtually improbable. Not to mention the plot that was being mined did not previously shine with that come thither look. I was glad to see all these creatures, both foes and friends of the garden for whatever guided them to this place they helped complete this summertime tableau of mine.

Bug Spray

1/2-cup chili pepper

6 garlic cloves crushed

5 eye-drops full neem oil

2-teaspoons liquid soap

1-tablespoon sesame oil

In a half-gallon container place the ingredients, and fill it completely with water. Place in the sun for about four hours.

Strain.

To use dilute the chili concoction at a ratio 1 part concoction to 3 parts water. Mist over your plants and on the ground surrounding them.

Taking time to smell the roses

For the last few weeks I have been stirred from my sleep by the increasingly earlier rising sun and the wafting aroma of the star jasmine that, at two years old, is now abundant with blooms. It seems the whole world is redolent, rife with pleasure: the trellising honeysuckle, my deeply scented rose bush, the lemon verbena that has rebounded after a worrisome winter, and the lavender and hyssop that is growing at an alarming rate.

After a scentless period, save for the rising of spices from my stew pot, I now walk through my yard or the market taken in by the assault of spring’s seduction. The whiff of an herb is a thrill not just to my nose, but my imagination and desire as well. Simple is the pleasure of torn mint, parsley and tarragon leaves tossed with once snuggling peas, feta, olives and red onion that screams, hello spring. Now also starts the march toward a cupboard merchandized with jars preserving this and future moments. 

My first vinegar of hyssop and red wine; desiccating in sugar rose petals will scent a cake and soon lavender buds will be drowned in almond oil that might be used in cooking, or perhaps, be massaged into my partner’s aching muscles. This is just the distance rumble of the stampede that is coming of more heavenly delights to be found to be enjoy right then or, pickled or preserved to help lift one's spirit out of the bleakness of winter’s inevitable repast.

**When preserving any flower or herb in sugar or salt first make sure they are organically grown in order not to concentrate pesticides as well fragrance in the jar. Sprinkle a layer about 1-inch thick on the bottom then layer a thin layer of whatever you are desiccating. Repeat this layering ending with a layer of the sugar or salt. Store in a cool, dark spot for a few weeks, or longer, before using.**

What I have learned.....

For years I have been the guide through markets around the country helping food enthusiasts negotiate their local farmer’s markets. Never go with a shopping list or any expectations apart from being in the moment has always been my mantra while surveying the jewels laid out. Never really sure what went into the production of the treasures I would find, taking for granted that a seed is dropped into the soil, and watered, and presto.

If it was only that simple – if you are trying to grow organically there are plagues of weeds and insects you are constantly battling. Are the conditions right for the plant to take root, sprout and deliver the part we are looking to eat? While one tomato seed may produce enough fruit for numerous meals from a carrot seed comes a carrot. Have many seeds do farmer’s plant to be able to give me the selection of that subterranean, nutrient packed vegetable? Herbs are definitely from the other end of the spectrum pretty easy to maintain as long as you don’t overwater or underwater; making sure the sun is ample enough or not, and you snip those budding flower heads as they develop in order to take the plant at it maximum fragrance.  If you succeed some of these plants will voluntarily return the following year, a bit stronger, for our embrace. My loveage for example, I thought it was given the right conditions for a strong life but never really took-ff. I wrote chalked it up as an experience, and assumed it was going to be brought into the house by the bunch. A few weeks ago in the spot where it limped through last year it erupted and stands bushy and tall radiating celery-like perfumed leaves – does my favorite herb farmer plant a year or two in advance? Tending my own plot of earth has given my great pleasure, and an appreciation for the planning and work that goes into a working farm and the delight I get upon receiving the bounty of their efforts. Never again will I consider the price too expense considering the labor involved, just perhaps out of my budget. 

Lamb Burgers – yields 8 burgers

¼-cup amaranth

1 small onion – minced

1-pound ground lamb

2-tablespoons Italian parsley leaves – chopped

1-tablespoon tarragon leaves – chopped

1-tablespoon loveage leaves – chopped

2-garlic cloves – finely minced

Salt and pepper to taste

Heat a 2-cup saucepan over a high flame, and add the amaranth. Toast the amaranth, stirring occasionally, until it starts to pop. Be careful not to burn it. Lower the heat to medium-low and add ½-cup water. Place a lid on the pan and cook for 10 to 15 minutes. Remove from the flame and allow the amaranth to cool completely.

In a large bowl mix together all the ingredients to thoroughly combine. Divide the lamb mixture into eighths and form into patties.

Cook on the grill or a sauté pan for about 5 minutes on each side. 

Close Call

 It is good I make my morning rounds like a doctor checking I on their patients, filling in notes on a make-believe chart, for the other day I grabbed my mug, slipped into my Wellies and started down to the garden. I heard a gentle rushing sound, and then stepped in it. We had left the hose running all night, and on the downward slope of the garden a flood. I panicked, and in a scene from a movie I dropped my cup and tore ass for the spigot. Now, the backstory is the hose was damaged, and we were in the throes of fixing it when we realized we bought the wrong sexed connector, so there was no nozzle attached. Who turned the water on between realizing we had the wrong part and returning from a Home Depot run with the correct replacement is still a mystery. Saturated was the area were tomatoes, peppers and husk tomatoes had only moved in within a week or so prior. The lemon grass, which I tend to water judiciously, got a month’s worth. Downward the flood plain went on to soak the herbs and spices bed – I think I lost two cumin plants to drowning – past the recently established lavender that will surely start to show signs of overwatering, and under the fence.

This is perhaps the only fortunate moment that morning gave me because the sunflowers lapped it up, and the adjacent corn seeds exploded into nascent plants. I am so relieved that I had only two causalities from this blunder, and it seems the tomatoes, peppers and husk tomatoes have actually appreciated the folly of our absent mindedness. Particularly since one of the tomato plants is the only one I am sure about, she is my Aunt Rudy and I am counting the days when her plump, blushing ripeness screams, take me. Yes, it helped that the following days were cloudless and un-seasonally hot so no one had to stand with wet roots diverting a sub-terrain disaster. I will work my hero status for a while particularly when I am being accused of being too neurotic, clearly you can never be too neurotic.

Spring’s Budding: An Awakening

Vegetables                                        Herbs                                                 Fruits            

Artichokes                                                             Chervil                                                Mango

Arugula                                                                 Chives                                                 Rhubarb        

Asparagus                                                              Cilantro                                              Strawberries

Broccoli Rabe                                                       Loveage

Carrots                                                                  Mint

Chicory                                                                 Parsley

Fava Bean                                                            Thyme

Fennel

Fiddlehead Ferns

Green Onions

Garlic Sprouts

Leeks

Lettuce Greens

Mushrooms

Peas Sprouts

Radishes

Ramps (Wild Leeks)

Sorrel

Snow Peas

Spinach

Swiss Chard

Watercress

Ah, the sweet smell....

Being on just the southern side of the Appalachian Mountains I get a quicker warm up into spring with a frost free date of mild April (though this year is going to skew the average considerably). My tomatoes, peppers, zucchinis, black-eyed peas and cucumbers are already in the ground as well as basil, cilantro, hyssop, summer savory and dill. The husk tomatoes, sugar baby watermelon and cantaloupe wait in their cells to be transplanted into solid ground. My radishes are being sliced nightly tossed with my arugula and rossa lettuce. I hope the nasturtiums pop a flower or two before the lettuce leaves are completely spent for a peppery garnish.

It seems this year my mind has not raced to abundance of the farmer’s markets as it has in years past. Usually, by mid-April I am biting at the bit for some dirt encrusted something but I have been satiated by the luxury of walking out my back door. However, not all pining’s are quenched by a quick grazing through the yard. I wish I will be able to get fiddlehead ferns but they don’t occur down here as well as ramps. Fortunately, I found myself up in the mountains over the weekend, and even if the urge is not a pregnant as I usually expect it to be, I made a beeline early in the morning for a market. And low and behold I found what I was seeking – ramps. So, a craving was met and they were terrifically stinky. But this warm spring brought an unexpected find, strawberries. I cannot even describe the perfume that filled the car on the ride home, or the sweet assault that greeted in the morning as I went to grind my morning beans. The strawberry plant in my garden has just started to put out flowers with a few still albino fruits making their way to the ready. We have enough to pop in our mouths for a couple of days, and the rest have to be processed. These are not Driscoll’s engineered berries that withstand cross-country journeys they will quickly start to breakdown sending an invitation to every fruit fly in the county to feast.

 

Their aroma is a celebration in itself and I would love to be seduced daily by the wafting of spring’s crimson seducer. While home offers plenty of indulgences one cannot forget the thrill of a market and the unexpected.

Strawberry Ice Cream yields approx. 1-1/2 quarts

1-quart milk

3 large stems anise hyssop

2-cup chopped strawberries

1-1/2 cups sugar

3 egg yolks

In a 2-1/2 quart saucepan bring the milk, hyssop and 1-cup of the strawberries to just below the boil over a medium heat.

In a work bowl beat the sugar and egg yolks together until pale yellow and slightly thickened. Once, the milk has heated slowly add about a third of the warmed milk into the eggs, whisking continuously. Add the tempered egg mixture back into the remaining milk, and cook over a medium low heat until the sugar has completely dissolved, stirring constantly with a rubber spatula. Pour the milk mixture thorough a fine sieve, and refrigerate it until cold.

Place the chilled milk mixture into the freezer compartment of an ice cream, and proceed occurring to the manufacture’s instructions. Just prior to removing the ice from its freezing compartment adding the remaining cup of chopped strawberries. Remove the ice cream to the freezer.

Spring Fling

That equinox did set off a flurry of activity outside. The pear tree became showy in a temporary coat of white flowers; cardinals, Robins and finches returned looking for seeds housed in the feeder suspended from a crape myrtle branch. The field beyond the yard soon became awash in pale hues of yellow, lavender and white as delicate wildflowers collectively made a grand display of it. Dandelions awoke as well, and I wished I like their bitterness for then I may be more tolerant of their pervasive nature. Instead, with trowel in hand I dig up the root stem hoping I got it all waiting to see where another will emerge. The lettuce I sowed a month earlier is joyfully growing in these temperatures and I dare not let it know its days are numbered. Arugula , beets and carrots are on course for a late spring bounty, and the first to arrive, the radish has already been sliced up. With the generosity of Mother Nature even my peas are climbing the ropes strung between stakes.

Spring hit without any loin’s roar, and after last year’s blunder with my attempt to raise peas I was worried the immediate warmth would mark another year of thwarted growth. But I spent the first few weeks watering their spot with iced water in the hopes it would keep the earth cool enough for its liking. The subsequent emergence of their ruffled leaves gave me great relief and pleasure. And now, as of yesterday, I have flowers! So, tempting to just snack on the sweet petal but I must keep my eye on the long view, and the pods I have waited over a year for. 

Celery-Radish Salad

6 celery stalks

1-bunch radish

1/2-cup shredded sorrel leaves

4 scallions – sliced on an angle

3-tablespoons white wine vinegar

1/4-cup olive oil

Salt and freshly ground pepper taste

Thinly slice both the celery and radishes. Then toss all the ingredients together, and refrigerate for a few hours before serving.